


Caffeinated Dreams

by Chusi



Category: Big Bang (Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst, Barista Seunghyun, Brief Seunghyun/Kibum, Coffee Shops, Fashionista Jiyong, Heartbreak, Jiyong is more in ‘love’ with Seunghyun than he should be, M/M, Modelling, Ok there might be smut later on who knows, and Seunghyun is an arse who makes mistakes, the title might change idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chusi/pseuds/Chusi
Summary: Jiyong's an espresso kind of guy. And Seunghyun is a Cappuccino kind of guy. When one needs a model, the other is only too happy to offer.





	1. Espresso Kind of Guy

Jiyong pushed roughly through the glass doors, sketchbook and pencil clutched in one hand, head in the other. He nearly growled, irritated by the pounding headache that had plagued him for the majority of the day. The fashionista supposed he could blame Heechul for it, him being the one to tear the seam of a newly designed outfit. It had been a pain to design and sew in the first place, never mind _repair_ for the demanding diva. 

Seeing his usual seat free, Jiyong strode towards the abandoned table, nestled secludedly in the corner. Plush sofas surrounded an antique table, which Jiyong had judged to be the perfect height for him to sketch on from early on. He set down his sketchbook, tugging off the beanie that had hidden his messy red hair. 

Ruffling it into a semi-decent style, he let his hand rest there momentarily in an effort to relieve the hammering pressure behind his eyes. Sighing, -something he swore he was doing more and more often - he began to head up to the somewhat busy bar.

The coffee shop certainly drew people in, Jiyong mused, with its relaxed and quietly sophisticated warmth. The high, arching windows lit the deep mahogany wood a gleam during the summer months, often contrasting and lending an almost melancholic feel during the winter. 

“Jiyong hyung!” A painfully bright voice called out to him, sharply accentuating the headache, “I take it that you want an espresso again? Awfully boring, you know, hyung? You should try something different one of these days.”

“I find my espressos perfectly enjoyable as they are, Seungri,” he retorted with a raised eyebrow, scrunching his nose up at the others infuriatingly limitless energy. The younger man had seemingly bleached his hair white, styling it forwards with the sides lightly shaved. Though Jiyong, due to a slight clash of personalities with the younger, was loathe to say it, the hairstyle suited Seungri.

“And if you wouldn’t mind, Seungri, I’d currently kill for caffeine. Anything to make this damn headache go away,” Jiyong growled. 

“Of course,” the man grinned, scribbling his order down roughly. Seeing as it never changed, Jiyong had to wonder why they even bothered writing it down at this point, “I’ll get my hyung on it straight away.”

His hyung; now _that_ man was an interesting and delectable one. Tall and built with elegant lines, the slim figure carried an air of sophistication and intelligence. It was a figure Jiyong simply loved to sketch. The barista had become the perfect inspiration for a new line of clothing. And to top it off, he made a damn mean espresso. The problem lay in the fact that Jiyong couldn’t find another model that seemed fitting enough _and_ satisfied his tastes for the new line.

He took a seat at his table, thumbs thoughtfully tracing the leather cover of his sketchbook. Flicking through, he glanced at the pencil-filled pages, contents ranging from full body sketches to jotted paragraphs of measurements. However, it was painfully clear that the barista’s face and body were the most prevalent features throughout. Although Jiyong had never considered himself an artistically talented person, he prided himself on the roughly sketched portraits of the man. Jiyong found an odd satisfaction in those crude lines.

Caught up in his thoughts, he was startled by the high pitched rattle of ceramic against the wood of the table. He took a breath, ready to thank the waiter - Youngbae was his usual server - as the rich, slightly bitter aroma of coffee overcame his senses. The promise of caffeine and the hopeful end of his headache pushed him to near clutch at the cup. He took a tentative sip, allowing the scalding liquid to burn the roof of his mouth. As ever, the flavour soothed his irritation. He could feel the tension in his shoulders melt away as he almost guzzled the coffee.

He was so engrossed in the espresso that he barely noticed the shifting of the sofa when someone sat down next to him. It wasn’t all that surprising, seeing as when the cafe wasn’t bustling with customers, Youngbae liked to take a seat and observe his sketches (something he’d been unsure about in the beginning, but had grown to quite like). 

He set the coffee down, a small smile on his face as he turned to greet the short waiter. Staring at the figure next to him, he found his mouth opening - though not with words, but disbelieving surprise.

The tall, unerringly elegant barista lounged next to him, legs arranged neatly in front of him. Jiyong almost envied the ease with which he styled himself; it seemed so unfairly effortless. His eyes flickered briefly over the others form, eyeing how not even the barista apron detracted from his pristine button up and black slacks. 

His eyes eventually found their way to the nameless barista’s face, bottom lip clamped between his teeth at the sight of the devilishly handsome man eyeing him amusedly. 

Jiyong blinked slowly. He swallowed hard against the small - not so small - lump that had formed in his throat. A rush of something, perhaps nerves and perhaps excitement, trembled through his body; he was practically shaking, unused to feeling so _affected_ by a person. Jiyong blinked once more, determined to turn back to his sketches and ignore the unexpected disruption (however much welcome it was). 

But he couldn’t understand why, after what must have been weeks of routinely sitting in the same seat, drinking the same coffee, his ‘inspiration’ (though he was loathe to call him that) had abandoned the coffee machines and chosen to sit next to _him_ of all people. Shaking his head slightly, he focused strictly on his sketches. 

His… sketches. Of the man next to him. Who was unabashedly looking at _those very sketches_.

He was thoroughly and utterly screwed. 

Jiyong hurriedly closed the book, pencil clenched tightly in his grip. The thud of paper hitting paper sounded too disruptive for the peaceful atmosphere in the coffee shop.

Jiyong let his head fall against the cool glass of the window, feverishly hoping it would calm the heat in his cheeks. It felt as if his entire face was on fire, a spotlight to showcase his embarrassment as if it were a work of art.

The soft whisper of clothing being rearranged greeted his ears. He glanced towards the barista, surprised to see that he wasn’t leaving, but settling further into the seat. Jiyong closed his eyes, turning his face farther into the glass. He abandoned the pencil in favour of fiddling with the black beanie laying in his lap. 

“You see that man over there, the blonde waiter with the mohawk?” 

His voice was utterly sinful. Deep and smooth like melted chocolate, Jiyong could feel the words wash over his skin. God, he could listen to that voice ramble on forever. 

His hands clutched the fabric tighter in his hands, turning to stare at the other man in confusion as he processed the words. The elder was focusing his gaze on Youngbae, _the person who Jiyong had thought was sitting next to him_. Though, a niggling voice - a rather jealous sounding voice - in the back of his head urged Jiyong to correct the man, nagging about the incorrect classification of a Mohawk and a faux hawk.

“That’s Youngbae,” he mused in his deep voice, staring at the other, “He’s the kind of person that drinks instant coffee. Cheerful, optimistic, laid back - though he tends to put things off.”

Jiyong could practically hear the amusement in the man’s voice. He couldn’t fathom why the barista had started talking about the waiter.

“Daesung,” he shifted to point to the guy on the far side of the café who was rearranging the looming bookshelves, “He’s the kind of guy to drink a Frappuccino. Adventurous and happy, with a regretfully excessive amount of energy.”

Jiyong glances at the newly named Daesung, frowning. He didn’t recognise him from his time spent at the coffee shop. He was sure that he would have remembered the distinctly feline eyes and muscular build - though it seemed that a lot of the employees at the cafe preferred that type of build. Jiyong couldn’t say the same for himself, preferring a taller and more elegant build (like the man next to him).

“As for our resident iced coffee addict, that would be Seungri, who mans the register.” 

Jiyong nodded absentmindedly. The younger man was always manning the till, supposedly because of his self-proclaimed ‘people skills’. In other words, he was entirely too enthusiastic and energetic for Jiyong’s tastes. 

“That means he’s an assertive, and incredibly confident person, perhaps to the point of arrogance sometimes.”

“I can see that,” Jiyong finally muttered, shifting his gaze away from the man. He felt oddly exposed around him, as if the barista could look through his numerous facades and see every single fault laid out like a book for him to read.

“As for you… well, an espresso says a lot about a man.” 

Jiyong tensed slightly, digging further into the corner. He felt as if he was hanging onto the barista’s every word like a loyal dog, which was something he despised greatly. Yet there was that nagging thought in his head, perhaps curiosity, pushing him to find out what, exactly, an espresso said about him. 

“A natural born leader. Someone who works - _and plays_ \- hard. And you know how to get what you want, when you want; no matter what.” 

At some point when the other was talking, Jiyong had shifted slightly, turning to face the dignified man. A shiver ran down his back, fingers still twisting knots into the hat’s fabric. The elders voice caused tremors to run through him, the velvety sound intoxicating.

“And what about you?” He questioned, voice quieter than usual. Jiyong didn’t trust himself to speak any louder.

“I, myself, favour a Cappuccino. A sophisticated and polished style, and put together. A preference towards the classier side of life, whilst maintaining a certain creativity. Choi Seunghyun, at your service,” Seunghyun tipped his head towards Jiyong, a glint lighting the dark brown eyes. 

“Oh, and Jiyong?” The youngers breath hitched slightly at the sound of his name coming from that man, “I’d happily model for you, anytime. Just call me.” 

Seunghyun uncrossed his legs, leaning over the coffee table and grabbing his jacket. The barista apron was slipped off, thrown at a table Youngbae was cleaning. He turned around, blazer slung over one shoulder. _Fuck_ , Jiyong thought, _even a coffee shop is like a catwalk for him_.

Jiyong frowned, blinking at his realisation, “But I don’t have your - “

“Here, your receipt Jiyong hyung,” a grinning Seungri shoved the fluttering piece of paper into his hands, shooting him an aggravatingly smug look as he headed back to the bar.

Jiyong lifted his gaze to stare at the older man, barely catching sight of him pushing through the cafe doors before he slipped into the bustling crowd. The crinkle of paper in his fist brought his attention back to the unexpected receipt that Seungri (damn that man) has pushed in his hand.

“Number…” Jiyong allowed his words to trail off, staring at the scribbled digits on the crumpled piece of paper.

———/———

The meeting room was crammed, full to the brim of sweating, expectant employees. Stood at the head of the table was the somewhat petite figure of their boss, perfectly fitting the ideal of a fashionista. There was a running joke in their company that the boss wouldn’t be caught dead in anything other than the height of fashion, even in his free time when relaxing. Jiyong, however, had to disagree due to the large amounts of sweatpants and baggy t-shirts he had cluttering his wardrobe. 

It was rather intoxicating, he supposed, to stand at the head of that table. He received admiring gazes from even the most self-obsessed employees, though whether it was due to his proposed new line of clothing or his appearance, he wasn’t sure. After all, it wasn’t rare for him to receive propositions from both sexes. 

Smirking, Jiyong turned back to the PowerPoint he had set up. That day, with the barista - Seunghyun - had given him more than enough ideas to complete the line. Indeed, Jiyong’s head had been spinning with potential items, all focusing on the more risqué and forward side. Sheer button up shirts met with tight trousers, some boasting strips of leather or mesh. And the model he pictured them with would look _stunning_ , if he did say so himself. 

Glancing around the meeting room, he nodded in satisfaction as he allowed the employees to disperse. 

Heading out of the room, he allowed his thoughts to wander. It had been, what? Two weeks since a scribbled on receipt had landed itself in his blazer pocket, bearing two words and a number.

‘Call me’.

But Jiyong had been so feverishly possessed by possibilities and ideas for the clothing line, that he _hadn’t_. 

It was time to go get some more coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again everyone!! Back with another fic, however, I'm finally dabbling in BigBang :) It's about time... I've had some fics on the burners for a while, so I'll get around to them in a bit.
> 
> And this is my first multi-chaptered fic here on AO3! Let's hope I don't flop and fail like I used to on fanfiction.net... those were some very bad and very good times ~
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading - let me know what you think! Any ideas for the future?? Let me know because pfft I don't plan (which is why I fail lmao).
> 
> Thanks, V.I.Ps!
> 
> Moonie


	2. Melancholatte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jiyong’s heartbroken, and Seunghyun’s a dick.

The cafe hadn’t changed one bit during the two weeks that he had near avoided the place. He’d become accustomed to sending assistants and interns to collect his coffee for him, though it didn’t seem quite the same as when he drank it in the cafe. It lacked the atmosphere, Jiyong supposed.

 

So it was slightly shaking hands and nibbling teeth that he slipped in through the glass doors, glancing around the small café. There were more people than usual, seated randomly around the room. In fact,  _ one _ too many for his tastes.

 

Jiyong narrowed his gaze, glaring at the obstruction in his day. There, seated at  _ his _ table was a blonde haired, rather attractive young man. With slanted feline eyes lined lightly with a smokey black and seamlessly flawless skin, it was fair to say that Jiyong was  _ jealous. _ What didn’t help, was that his barista was leaning over the smaller, smirking slightly as the younger murmured in his ear. 

 

A frown creased Jiyong’s forehead, leaving brown eyes to blink rapidly in an attempt to fight the water welling in his eyes. Glaring at the ground, he was all but ready to leave and forget about the clothing line altogether.

 

“Jiyong-ah!” A voice called out from his right, “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

 

“Youngbae, now is not a good time,” Jiyong said through gritted teeth. Though it had been far too long without seeing the shorter man (something he loved rubbing in), there was a tension, an anxiety in his chest that told him to get out, to run from the scene. And Jiyong couldn’t help but agree with it.

 

Glancing back up to the  _ couple,  _ his mouth twisted bitterly at the sight. The blond had stood up, an arm sneaking its way around Seunghyun’s waist. From his position in the doorway, Jiyong couldn’t see the barista’s face, but he could make out the sickeningly perfect features and expressions of the younger. A shiver of contempt ran through Jiyong at the predatory look laced in the other man’s eyes. 

 

He could feel bile rising in his throat, a feeling of shame washing over him. The man wasn’t  _ his _ , he didn’t even know him for fucks sake! So what, the man offered to model for him? For all Jiyong knew, he could just be in it for the money; and seeing as he was currently engaged with his  _ new boo,  _ he certainly wasn’t in it for romance or sex. 

 

Pinching the skin on the back of his hand, he tried to draw his attention away from the two men. Jiyong turned to face Youngbae, a smile forced on his face. The other was stood a few metres away, eyebrow raised as he stared at Jiyong.

 

“Sorry,” Jiyong said, a slight tremor in his words, “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

 

“You could say that.”

 

He sighed, “I’m sorry, Youngbae, I’ve been really busy. We have -  _ had,  _ a new line of clothing coming out, so I was a bit busy.” 

 

The lie sounded weak even to him, and worse when Youngbae accepted it with a dubious look on his face. They both knew he’d been straight up avoiding the cafe, for multiple reasons. At least he had another reason to now. 

 

“Anyways, do you want anything? Coffee? Espresso?” 

 

Coffee. 

 

Jiyong glanced back over to the barista and the blonde man. Except they were both standing, were getting closer and closer until — he blinked hard, staring at the lips lingering on Seunghyun’s cheek until his vision blurred and swam with tears. 

 

The smaller, thinner, more handsome man was on his tiptoes, what were probably soft lips leaving a kiss on the barista.  _ The _ barista, not his barista because it was clear as hell that the man was not interested anymore; if he ever  _ had  _ been. 

 

“I —” the words choked coming out of Jiyong’s mouth, “No. I — I was just leaving. I’m sorry.”

 

He didn’t know if the last sentence was directed to Youngbae, Seunghyun or maybe even himself. 

 

Stumbling slightly, he pushed his way back out of the doors he had come through not minutes ago, vaguely hearing them slam behind him as he broke into a run. The tears wetting his cheeks made it hard to see all too clearly, his shoulders crashing into people going the other way. 

 

Jiyong didn’t know where he was going, just that it was away, away, somewhere far away from the little coffee shop that used to hold good memories for him. Soon, he was barrelling through the white door of his apartment, breathing ragged and interrupted by sobs that caught in his throat. The tears were still dripping down, soaking his clothing and a vague part of him pondered that his makeup was probably ruined, perhaps his top too. A shame, he had dressed well today. 

 

Door gaping open behind him, Jiyong staggered into the small but luxurious apartment. There, lying on the table in his living room was an unassuming notebook. Jiyong felt his legs give out under him, collapsing onto his knees in the plush white carpet. He lay there for however long, kneeling before the coffee table that painfully reminded him of a barista and an espresso. 

 

Trembling fingers reached out to the book, tracing the indents and creases on the cover. Jiyong hiccuped, drifting fingers wiping off the smudges of water that fell onto the leather. 

 

He stumbled up from the floor, staggering on wobbling legs to the kitchen. He tugged open drawers, rummaging frantically through them. 

 

_ There. _

 

His fingers closed around a cold, metal object, tugging it from underneath the rest of the clutter in the drawer. Holding the book in one hand, he clicked once, twice, thrice with the other hand. A flame flickered out of the lighter, wobbling in his tremoring hands. Jiyong held the flame underneath the white and black pages of the sketchbook, watching the licks of heat latch on and consume the paper. He sank down against the kitchen counter, still clutching the two objects, watching as sketches and writing alike were eaten up, turned into nothing more than ashes and memories. 

 

The still burning book fell out of his hands along with the lighter, landing on the hard marble floor. 

 

A slight whimper tore its way out of Jiyong’s chest, followed by another and another until he was fully sobbing, cries being ripped out of him. One of his pale hands clutched at his chest, trying to get rid of the aching and heavy pain that suffocated him. 

 

He lay there, crumpled and dishevelled, a leather shell with the remnants of his heart discarded next to him. 

  
  


———/———

 

Youngbae watched the slowly shattering figure of Jiyong launch himself out of the coffee shop, fleeing from the couple in front of him. The waiter could feel his fists clenching, muscles tense with fury. He had known the other for no longer than a few weeks, but he had grown attached to the younger. 

 

He turned his gaze onto the two, glaring as the lips of a certain Kim Kibum still lingered on Seunghyun’s cheek. The crash of the doors slamming shut after his fleeing friend resounded through his ears, fury and disbelief welling up inside of him. 

 

Youngbae was torn between checking on Jiyong, and giving Seunghyun the yelling of a lifetime. Instead, he reached up to the apron hanging around his neck, undoing the straps and balling it up, flinging the item of clothing at the two men. It flew through the air, hitting Seunghyun hard in the back of his head. 

 

The tall barista jerked, dislodging Kibum. Seunghyun turned to Youngbae, a look of disbelief and annoyance on his face, ready to berate the waiter. He paused at the cold glare settled on Youngbae’s features, frowning at his animosity. 

 

“What the hell was that for?” He growled out, staring at the blonde haired man. It was strange to see anything but a calm, often happy expression on Youngbae’s face; the harsh, disgusted look he currently sported was wildly different from anything Seunghyun had seen before, “Don’t tell me you’re against two men being together, Youngbae; I know you’re religious and all, but I thought you were better than that.”

 

Youngbae shook his head in revulsion, clenching his fists tighter together. He raised one arm, trembling with fury as he pointed towards the still swinging door. 

 

“You absolute, fucking prick,” Youngbae swore at the taller, disregarding his usual aversion of swear words. 

 

He glanced towards the doors, eyeing them slightly, “So what, a customer saw us kissing? What’s so wrong with that?” Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, arms crossed defensively. 

 

Next to him, Kibum was glancing between the two employees, foot tapping impatiently. Huffing slightly as Seunghyun wouldn’t pay attention to him, he grabbed his bag from the table, muttering a curt farewell to the barista and leaving the two men to stare at each other. 

 

“A customer,” Youngbae whispered, nausea creeping into his stomach, “It wasn’t  _ just  _ a customer that saw you.”

 

“Two? Three? So what, it was just a kiss, Youngbae!” 

 

“It was Jiyong!” The waiter exploded, still pointing towards the door, “Jiyong saw you kissing, you idiot. And now he’s crying, devastated because you led him on then broke his goddamned heart!”

 

“It was Jiyong?” Seunghyun questioned faintly, paling slightly at realisation, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Dumbfounded, Youngbae stared at the elder. He shook his head in disbelief.

 

“You know what? I quit,” the ex-waiter muttered.

 

“What? Youngbae, you can’t, I know how much you need the money!”

 

“Then I’ll just have to find another job, won’t I?” He spat venomously. Ignoring the others protests and pleads, he turned away from him, storming out of the café. 

 

Not five minutes ago, everything was fine. And now, Seunghyun was left stood there, wondering how he let everything go wrong.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there’s the second chapter! Quicker than I thought. Anyways, thanks to everyone who reviewed and gave kudos, I seriously appreciate it! 
> 
> Moonie ~


	3. Despresso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m addicted,” He garbled out as he cradled the empty bottle to his chest, “I’m — addicted. Addicted.”

 

Jiyong was a natural born leader. Someone who worked - _and played_ \- hard. And he knew how to get what he wanted, when he wanted; no matter what.

Or, at least, he used to be. He may still have been a leader, but insecurities snuck under his skin, a hundred thousand doubts following every decision. Yes, he still worked hard, but everything he did felt like there should be more to it, that he should have done better at it. And it was very clear to him that he couldn’t get whatever he wanted, not then and most definitely not now.

A sluggish smirk dominated Jiyong’s features. He let his head loll down, a giggle slipping out of him. He _certainly_ couldn’t have what he wanted. There were some things he just couldn’t reach, with the one dominating his mind being a certain Choi Seung hyun.

It was an addiction, he supposed.

The thought made him laugh again, a dull cackle that wracked against his throat, inducing a coughing fit. He dropped the bottle clutched in his hand to raise a hand to his mouth, taking satisfaction in the chunk of the glass bottle against the floor. 

An addiction it was, then. Addicted to his words, his little smirks, the splay of his fingers on a ceramic coffee mug. He’d been addicted, had needed those splashes of Seunghyun for close to four weeks. Jiyong sighed, fingers tracing idle patterns on the cold kitchen tiles. _It’s crazy how attached you can become in such a short amount of time_ , he thought scornfully, _how attached_ I _become_. 

“I mean, so what if he fucking kisses someone else,” Jiyong chuckled bitterly to himself, “So fucking what? So… what?” 

Shaking his head weakly, he reached out, searching shakily for the previously discarded bottle. His fingers wrapped around the cold glass neck, lifting it desperately to his mouth. Empty. Of course it was.

“I’m addicted,” He garbled out as he cradled the empty bottle to his chest, “I’m — addicted. Addicted.”

And when you’re addicted, you quit, don’t you?

 

————////////————

 

It was safe to say that Jiyong was _pissed_. Not ‘drunk’ pissed (though he was that too) but the angry, furious kind of pissed. It had been, what, a few hours since he’d fallen asleep and the annoyingly persistent rays of light had already started streaming in from his living room window. 

Why did he sleep on the kitchen floor and _why_ , for God’s sake, had he ever gotten involved with the café? 

Sniffing slightly, Jiyong wrinkled his nose at the horrific odour surrounding him. Okay, maybe it was time for a shower. And a shave, perhaps. Maybe he’d just get walk through a car wash at this rate.

With weak legs that nearly gave out on him, Jiyong gripped onto the counter as he heaved himself off of the floor. He stumbled slowly towards the bathroom, vision slightly blurred. Jiyong hissed in pain as he banged into more than one hard surface, wincing at the thought of bruises decorating his pale shins.

He shoved through the bathroom door. Within minutes, Jiyong had stripped and stepped underneath the scalding spray of his shower, shifting as the water beat down on his aching muscles. He scrubbed at his skin, trying to get rid of the last vestiges of his hangover. _Maybe the alcohol had been a little in excess last night_ , he pondered. 

As the water worked out the knots in his muscles, Jiyong sighed and pressed his hands into his eyes. With bloodshot eyes and under-eye bags the size of a Givenchy handbag, there was no hiding how his night was spent. And Jiyong, to be completely honest, could not give _any_ more shits about that.

Stepping out of the warm water, the brush of cool air against his heated skin set goosebumps racing across his bare skin. Jiyong glanced up, his gaze catching on the fogged up mirror. Not even that the thin, blurry film of condensation could make him look good in his current state. Shaking his head, Jiyong padded out of the bathroom, wincing as his feet made contact with the cold marble tiles. He supposed he should go to work; but for once in a long time, for a workaholic like him, he really didn’t want to. Whilst he couldn’t care less about his employees seeing him like this (they’d seen much worse), he just could not be bothered. With heavy limbs and slumping shoulders, the idea of traipsing into that building just elicited a burdened sigh. Yet it was with those same unwilling limbs that he buttoned up a pristine shirt and pulled on his slacks, a tie soon tightened around his neck - rather like a noose, he mused with a dry chuckle. _How fitting_.

 

————////////————

 

The muted hum of the revolving doors spinning round and round as employee after employee entered set a fitting background to the frequent tap of shuffled paper. Head ducked down and hair tucked behind one ear, the woman sat there on one of those classic office chairs that would often sink down slowly at the most inopportune moments. She sighed, shuffling yet another stack of paper.

The secretary hissed lightly at a pain on her finger, dropping the stack of work to find a paper cut decorating her hand. Pursing her lips, she picked the paperwork back up and filed it away carefully in a ring-bound folder. The folder joined the top of a pile, soon to be lost amidst the mountain of other folders that littered her desk. The pile was balanced precariously to her left and, with a few more additions, could easily tower over her head. 

Picking her pen up with determination (instead of the usual dull boredom), she reached for the next stack of paper. However, as she did, her chair began to sink down ever so slowly, leaving her at eye level with the desk. A frown marred her forehead, only to be deepened as she kicked the desk slightly in frustration - unfortunately, causing the hazardous pile of folders to tumble down with a resounding crash, scattering across the polished marble floor of the reception. 

Still at eye level with the desk, she slammed her hands against the wood and pushed away, muttering loudly, “Oh for fuck’s—”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” a low voice interjected from in front of the reception desk. 

Caught red-handed, she glanced up, a sheepish expression painted on her face. The situation would have appeared comical to someone else, with the ridiculously low chair forcing her to crane her neck to identify the stranger (however short he was). To her horror, before her stood a somewhat dishevelled Kwon Jiyong, known famously in the fashion industry as G-Dragon; also, coincidentally, her boss. 

The secretary flushed and sputtered, almost falling off of the damned chair to retrieve the stray folders. 

Jiyong shook his head at the young woman, bending down reluctantly and gathering up the ring-binders. Sometimes, it felt like he was running the business by himself, no matter how many employees he hired. 

Depositing the folders safely on the desk, Jiyong left the still flustered woman for the sanctuary of his office. It was still a rough morning, regardless of the vast quantity of coffee he had downed.

Turning away, he strode towards the elevator, heels drumming a beat to his headache as they clicked on the marble floor. The elevator was soon on its way to the tenth floor with a single metallic ding.

Jiyongs office was a vast, somewhat intimidating place, if you ignored the large quantities of fabric thrown over most available spaces, various pins sticking out. In all honesty, however, the room felt more like a home than the empty apartment ever had; Jiyong had spent countless hours there, squinting as he threaded needles in a sleep deprived state. Sat in the middle of this room, surrounded by heaped piles of half-finished products, was where he felt he belonged for once. 

And so Jiyong found himself there three hours later, the sun well up in the sky, with a needle in his fingers and a cloth laid gently over his legs; a sky-blue fabric that glided through his fingers sinfully well. For him, sewing was therapeutic, a way to distract himself from the monotonous drone of business and emails and towering stacks of paperwork that never seemed to lessen. 

But the ache in his hands and the twitch in his fingers remained, a lingering reminder of what he’d had and what he’d lost, yet another brief moment in time. 

Shaking his head bitterly, Jiyong set the needle aside and stretched his cramping hands. Perhaps one day he would learn to stop becoming so attached to people; it would do him a good deal of good just to let others come and go in his life, but he just wasn’t that type of person. He supposed his current state was an indication of that. 

No matter how hard he tried to hide the weary aching in his chest and the weight that pushed down, suffocating him, he couldn’t, he just _couldn’t_. It didn’t seem to matter that the man had not been his, nor had the man seemed interested in anything other than being a model. Yet another gold digger, perhaps.

Vacating the appealing crimson sofa, Jiyong groaned as he stretched. A few audible cracks resounded through the room as a satisfied noise slipped out of his mouth. 

Jiyong cast a last glance at the bundle of fabric before he strode out of the office, barely managing to avoid colliding into a diminutive body coming the opposite way. Halting abruptly, he blinked at the person standing before him. 

“Sohee,” he nodded at her, “You look well.”

His secretary snorted, “I wish I could say the same; you look like shit, Sir.”

Jiyong winced; she truly had such an eloquent way with words. Though that had somewhat been the reason he’d hired her in the first place, hoping beyond hope that her blunt, sugarless approach would kick his sorry behind into gear. In all fairness, it had worked and she was very effective.

“Anyway, Sir, I’ve been talking with the assistants, and they all seem to think —“

Nodding at her rather absent-mindedly, Jiyong swerved around the woman and headed straight for the elevator. A few photo shoots were currently being hosted in one of the lower levels, and it was about time that Jiyong checked up on the more junior members of the companies; both staff and models. 

“Sir — Sir? Are you listening? I said, we need to have that model, and quick. The colours need to be checked, and the sizing too. Have you started sewing the clothes yet? Do you - “

Halting suddenly as the words registered to him, Jiyong glanced at the floor, a hand raised to brush against his chest. He blinked hard, the reminder of the line and its significance coming crashing down on him.

“Sohee,” he murmured, “I need you to cancel the line.”

His secretary stopped a few feet in front of him, turning towards him in utter disbelief. _Here comes the torrential rain_ , Jiyong thought, a slight smile lifting the corner of his lips unwillingly. 

“What on earth do you mean? Sir, it’s almost complete. We’ve even begun doing some promotions! You can’t be serious,” Sohee shook her head, frantically searching through her files for any reason that Jiyong might have decided was enough to quit, “This line will be huge! All we need is the model.”

Jiyong closed his eyes for a second, turning away from Sohee, “Shut it down, and remove the promotions. It was destined to fail anyway,” he muttered slightly bitterly. 

“Sir, please listen to—”

“We don’t have a model, okay? He… we don’t have one. That’s it.”

Pursing her lips, she bowed her head in admission, “If that’s what you wish, Sir.”

Ignoring the heaviness in his chest, Jiyong clenched his hands into fists and strode away. 

He supposed there was a pain in shutting it down, a sharp yet thorough pain that didn’t want to let go of him. The result of hours of work, of nights spent sewing by moon and lamplight, gone down the drain. Yes, he was bitter, but who wouldn’t be? The line, which he’d poured himself into for endless weeks, was headed towards the proverbial bin. It hurt, _God_ it hurt.

But a line couldn’t be published without a model, nor without the original inspiration, and Jiyong had lost both of those mere hours ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo ~
> 
> Finally got round to posting this after it sat in my docs for... weeks? Anyway I'm sorry if this is absolutely terrible, it still feels a bit... off to me, but I guess it's just a bad chapter :( sigh. Anyways, next chapter will probably feature Youngbae coming back into the plot, so there's that to look forward to! 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading it and please tell me what you think, I appreciate you guys so much!!
> 
> Moonie


	4. In*sip*idity

The night air stung like knives in his lungs, only somewhat tempered by the dusty smoke he dragged in. Like a stranded man guzzling water, Youngbae clutched at the cigarette with desperate, trembling fingers, eyes undeviatingly fixated on the ash that slowly tumbled down. Lit only by the unforgiving yellow street lamps, Youngbae lent backwards onto the cold metal banister that caged the steps.

Tap, tap. More ash fell down, coming to drift onto the dirty, ragged newspaper by his shoes.

Youngbae’s gaze, like the ash, fluttered downwards, just shy of his somewhat tattered white trainers, to land on the abandoned magazine. _‘Momentous line cancelled, no reason stated’_ graced the headlines, braced harshly against a monochrome background. Hair swept back and sunglasses on, the man on the front cover seemed so unaffected, that slight cock of the lips taunting the viewer. He was untouchable, so utterly out of reach; yet when Youngbae had seen that man launch himself out of a small cafe door, the mighty CEO had been everything but.

Youngbae bent down, expelling a sigh of smoke at the frigid nights conditions and snatched up the magazine with his spare hand, shaking the discarded ash off.

“That’s better,” he mumbled around the cigarette hanging off his lips, fingers trembling slightly as he blinked hard. Where the ash had once littered the handsome, familiar face, now his fingers instead traced the contrasting harshly soft features of Kwon Jiyong. First his fingers covered the stylish black sunglasses that hid Jiyong’s eyes from view, desperately wanting to tear them off and see if they looked so hauntingly empty as they did that day. Then, he lingered on his soft-looking lips, remembering the tears that slowly curved around their downturned corners. Youngbae’s fingers drifted across the page, wandering on the other’s figure before tapping gently on the man’s left side of his chest; just where his heart would be.

That had been the most painful sight in the cafe, to see the man’s delicate, decorated fingers clutch at his shirt _right there_ , as if his hopes and heart could be kept together if he held on tight enough.

Youngbae didn’t blame him; certainly not. No, it was Seunghyun he couldn’t stand, for having made Jiyong run out of the door instead of… instead of into his own arms. He shook his head derisively, dropping the re-crumpled newspaper in favour of rubbing a hand against his eyes, inhaling a sharp gasp of smoke. He really was getting delirious. It must be the cigarettes, he thought decisively, tearing the little stick away from his mouth in distaste. He couldn’t be gay, he just _couldn’t_. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t.

“I’m not,” he mumbled, his trembling fingers messing up his carefully styled blond mohawk. Once, twice, Youngbae ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends roughly as if to ground himself. “I’m _not_ ,” he insisted to the empty car park once more, voice cracking slightly.

Curling his lip, Youngbae stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, cringing away once his fingers curled around the cool metal of a lighter. He wrenched it out of his pocket, growing angry at the receptacle. Furiously clenching it tighter in his hand, he threw the lighter as far away from him as he possibly could.

It clattered loud against the tarmac, skittering across the rough surface.

Youngbae, jaw gritted, turned his back on the run-down car park. He strode in the opposite direction, away from the discarded lighter, deliberately trampling on the abandoned newspaper as he left.

 

———//////———-

 

“Seungri, can you come over here a second?” Daesung tilted his head to the side, tapping a half-broken black biro against his plastic serving tray, “I need to have a word with you.”

In the warm atmosphere of the coffee shop, days like these weren’t unheard of. Almost packed full to the brim with shivering, often rain-soaked customers, it was a fight against a raging tide of orders that they used to barely manage to keep up with; now, with one member fewer in their small group of staff, it was nigh on impossible to manage.

“Yes, hyung?” Seungri, hair messily parted, arrived by Daesung’s side not two minutes after he’d called. The shorter man had lost his usual air of arrogance, run down by both the large amount of customers and the obnoxious tension currently present in their work force. It felt so wrong to Daesung, who was used to the audacious cockiness in the younger, that he reached out a hand to ruffle his messy hair. Seungri scowled at Daesung, ducking away from his hand.

“Hey, lighten up a little, will you? You almost never call me hyung,” Daesung smacked the back of the youngers head, eyes crinkling when Seungri glared harder at him, “Look at you, you little baby.”

Seungri rubbed the back of his head, heavy eyes drifting down to focus on his scruffy shoes. The loud chatter of the customers around him, accompanied by the familiar aroma of coffee, wore away at his energy.

“If you don’t need anything then, hyung,” he turned his head away, heading back to the cash register, “I have a job to do.”

Daesung stared after the shorter with a growing sense of incredulity. Regardless of the amount of people they were dealing with, regardless of how Seungri felt, or anything event that had happened to him, the younger had never been so… _listless_. No, perhaps that wasn’t the word. Tense, maybe, or even upset.

Hands clenched, Seungri shuddered as he felt a gaze land in between his shoulder blades; or at least, he thought he could. As usual, it would be one of his hyungs watching, making sure nothing went _wrong_ , because whenever something involved him, it usually did go wrong. And Seungri _hated_ it, this constant feeling of being watched. It was fine when it was Seunghyun, or Youngbae - when he was around - and, of course, Jiyong _always_ used to watch him when he was manning the till, so Seungri was more than used to that.

But when it came to Daesung? He hated it, _detested_ it; he could take the other hyungs coddling him, but a jumbled bitterness sat heavy in his gut and on his tongue whenever Daesung babied him.

Seungri raised a hand to the back of his head slowly, fingers brushing against the lingering tingling sensation on his scalp as he let out a shaky breath. He coughed, bringing his hand away as a customer approached the till. This girl in particular, typical of new customers, indulged her (and Seungri’s) time by pondering over the various baked goods sat on the counter. With a smile on her face, she raised her eyes to Seungri’s and blinked, long eyelashes fluttering against her defined cheekbones.

“I don’t suppose you have any recommendations, would you?” She crossed the last two steps to the cash register, voice as soft as dark brown velvet, “I seem to be having difficulty choosing.” And she smiled at him, the gesture accompanied by her hand brushing her dark hair over her shoulder as if to highlight her face further. Seungri found himself cocking his head to the left, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“Unless you want to be overloaded with sugar and caffeine, I’d advise that you don’t ask him,” a voice cut through their conversation (or what _would_ have been one, had the pair not been interrupted). Seungri felt his nose scrunch up, shoulders tensing at the perceived insult. A twinge of annoyance raced up his spine, fingers twitching slightly. “Seungri, I’ll take her order. You go wait the tables,” his hyung finished.

“Daesung hyung, I’m fine. Now, if you would mind?” The younger turned to face his hyung, who had situated himself in front of the bar, his tone more acidic than intended. Seungri turned back to the girl in front of him, feeling a distinct smile lifting the corners of his lips. _It’s been a while since I’ve hooked up with anyone,_ he supposed. With the way the girl’s lips curled a delectable wine red, Seungri supposed the girl to be a more than acceptable catch.

Forgotten at the side, Daesung watched on as the girl lay brief touches on the younger’s wrists, his mouth pinched as the excessively cloying perfume she bore wafted heavily over the calming scent of chocolate and coffee. He swallowed, feeling his adam’s apple bob, but the lump still remained in his throat, a knot that tied both his tongue and his thoughts.

Seungri, with his hair still dishevelled and his hands brushing against the womans, was soon handing over an artistically decorated coffee, paired with a hand-chosen delicacy that he surely picked to woo her with.

Daesung’s frowning gaze was still fixated on the younger, his fingers fisting themselves in his barista apron.

“Anyway hyung, I was thinking of introducing Seunghyun hyung to a new type of coffee; I mean, you know how precious he is about his cappuccinos, it’s almost like they’re a religion he’s devoted to, but I really think I could wean him onto something _sweeter_ , or perhaps stronger. You know, to spice up his — hyung? Daesung hyung?” Seungri called to the disappearing figure of the elder. The maknae pouted, huffing slightly as his hyung firmly ignored his calls, making his way swiftly to the back room.

“Typical,” Seungri grouched, “As soon as I want to talk to him about something, he disappears in a hissy fit. I swear, he’s so sensitive about things.” The younger shook his head, lips not leaving their petulant shape. It definitely wasn’t his fault this time, seeing as he’d been too engrossed with the girl to do or say anything _too_ insulting to Daesung.

 

———//////———-

 

Youngbae traced his fingers over the eleven digits saved into his phone. It was so tempting, just to call the younger and ask him. A scowl curled his lips, disgust welling up.

He barely recognised himself anymore. What was he, apart from a coward and a one-sided attraction?

Youngbae fumbled with his phone, turning the power off and shoving it deep into his pocket. It was best not to think about it, not when his world was crumbling down around him.

“Um, excuse me? Are you going in, or…?” A hesitant voice ventured from behind him.

Youngbae turned to face the stranger, eyes wandering around his surroundings. Above his head, plain to see, was the familiar sign for what used to be _Jiyong’s_ cafe. His lips curled slightly in annoyance, fingers tapping on his thigh. Youngbae turned back to the person behind him, eyes catching on a stylish scarf wrapped around his neck and the delicately placed fedora adorning his head.

“ _You_ ,” he recoiled, tone laced with surprise and a hint of disgust, “What are you here for?”

“I… I wanted to come see Seunghyun,” a blush betrayed Kibum. He shuffled his feet, the cold weather easily getting to him through his thin clothes. “If you’re not going in, then, would you mind moving?” The younger brushed past Youngbae, shoulders knocking slightly.

With a rattle from the bell, the door swung shut again, leaving Youngbae standing outside, gazing up at the shops signpost.

The warmth of the cafe lit Kibum’s eyes up, a shiver running down his spine. He groaned, unwinding the scarf from around his neck and tipping off his hat.

“That’s better,” he sighed. Kibum stood in front of the counter, eyes running across the various pastries displayed. Whilst the cafe was packed, he was certain it wouldn’t be long until Seunghyun made an appearance. He hummed slightly, waiting for the customer in front of him to finish their order.

Kibum tapped his foot slightly, shifting around as the minutes ticked by on the clock. He _still_ hadn’t ordered his food, and it’d been over five minutes in the damned queue. Glancing over his shoulder, he noted the amount of people lined up behind him.

Sighing, Kibum straightened his clothes out before reaching out to tap the person’s shoulder.

“Excuse me? You’re taking quite a while, and there’s a queue—”

“Huh? Oh, I’m sorry,” the girl spun around, glaring as she caught sight of him, “I’m _trying_ to talk to the barista here.”

“The barista?” Kibum questioned, confused by the hostility, “Oh, Seungri hyung? Good luck with that,” he laughed slightly, teeth showing, “You’d be hard pressed to find a man more stupidly in love without even knowing it.”

The girl glanced him up and down, an expression of distaste written on her pointed features.

“Stick your nose out of it,” she hissed, flicking her hair, “Oppa, are you nearly done with my order?” The sweetness of her tone was so blatantly fake to Kibum, even without seeing the fluttering eyelashes and pouted lips. _God, I could almost throw up from this,_ he thought, rolling his eyes.

Seungri handed over the girls pastry, which was sickeningly decorated with a chocolate heart, before clapping his hands together. The man continued to spout of rubbish about his newest idea for Seunghyun, until he noticed no one (Daesung in particular) was listening.

“Can I finally get my order, hyung?” Kibum, now annoyed, finally grabbed Seungri's attention, “Or are you still too busy with that girl? Or, perhaps, too busy annoying Daesung hyung?”

The barista whirled around to face him, eyes wide.

“You,” he frowned. Seungri crosses his arms over his chest, leaning away from the younger man. “I don’t know if you’re welcome here, anymore.”

Kibum recoiled from the unexpected words, hand tangling in his clothing by his chest. He sniffed slightly, nose running from the cold. Out of all the people working in the cafe, Seungri had been the last person he would expect such a sentence from - and Kibum hearing such words about himself was rare anyway, as he was rather amiable if he said so himself.

“Why on earth would you say that?” Kibum scoffed, maintaining a façade of cockiness. But instead of Seungri laughing his previous words off, and perhaps even _apologising,_ he merely glanced at him and busied himself with the cash register.

Stung, Kibum pursed his lips and looked away, “It doesn’t matter anyway. Just give me a coffee, I only came to see Seunghyun hyung anyway.”

Once again, Seungri kept silent, only gazing at him with a strange look as he started to wipe down the bar.

“Oh, come on!” Kibum finally snapped, “Just serve me, for God’s sake! Can’t you see the queue behind me?” He waved his hands at the grumbling line of people behind him.

Exhaling roughly, Seungri dropped the damp rag onto the bar. The elder man leant in the bar, leaning over it and catching Kibum’s eyes.

“T.O.P hyung was right for once, you know,” Seungri said quietly, only inches between the two of them, “and I normally wouldn’t say so because that man does _not_ need a bigger ego than he already has. He told us before, not too long ago, that he’d had you pegged as a soya milk drinker for a while,” he snorted lightly, the corners of his lips tilting up before he immediately sobered up. “We all laughed at him, of course, because the rare few people we’ve had that have ever ordered soya milk have never come back to this cafe. Call us crazy, but just this once, our hyung was right. You really are a soya milk kind of guy, aren’t you?”

Kibum leant back, breaking the eye contact, “What kind of bullshit discrimination is this? Just because I drink soy milk, so fucking what?”

Pushing himself off the counter, Seungri rapped out the order to himself as he wrote it on a cup, “One soy vanilla latte with a side of arrogance, high maintenance and egotistical vanity coming _right_ up.”

Quickly whipping the latte up, Seungri left Kibum spluttering to himself in upset outrage, a satisfied smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I’m not dead! Sorry this chapter took so long to get out, I got stuck halfway through and only just finished it :( I speed edited it so if there’s anything off, let me know and I’ll fix it. Also, I’m sorry to everyone who loves Kibum (me too) because he’s a jerk at the moment, but it should get better... I think
> 
> Anyway, let me know if you’re still reading / liked the chapter :)
> 
> Moonie


	5. What to do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys

Hi everyone

So I know it’s been a while since I’ve updated, and believe me I really do want to continue writing this fic, but I’m just not sure what to do.

The recent events in Kpop have highlighted some issues, specifically involving Seungri. We all know by now what Big Bangs maknae has done, and whisky I really don’t want to believe it until he’s charged or proven guilty, I think it’d be incredibly insensitive to just continue writing this fic as it is.

So I thought I’d ask you guys what you think; I love writing this story, and I’ve planned out the entirety of the plot line as well. I want to continue it, but I don’t know what to do about all this mess.

Let me know what you think of it?

Chusi

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again everyone!! Back with another fic, however, I'm finally dabbling in BigBang :) It's about time... I've had some fics on the burners for a while, so I'll get around to them in a bit. 
> 
> And this is my first multi-chaptered fic here on AO3! Let's hope I don't flop and fail like I used to on fanfiction.net... those were some very bad and very good times ~
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading - let me know what you think! Any ideas for the future?? Let me know because pfft I don't plan (which is why I fail lmao). 
> 
> Thanks, V.I.Ps!
> 
> Moonie


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